The Dance
by orangetulips
Summary: Noah and Rachel aren't friends. Puck and Rachel aren't friends. Or maybe they are, just not in the traditional sense of the word. She believes in him but can never finds the words to tell him that, and he believes in her and can only find his own crude words. It's a rudimentary back and forth dance for dominance, for protection. Takes place after the "Choke" episode.


**Disclaimer: I** don't own Glee or it's characters; I just use them in my whimsy.  
**A/N: **Spoilers up to "Goodbye", but kind of as though the big outburst in "Props" didn't happen. Pursuant to my belief that my ipod KNOWS THINGS, this song (www. metrolyrics ) came on the shuffle on my commute into work this morning. Immediately, I was all, "ZOMG PUCKLEBERRY FEELS" and thus, this was born.

Remove spaces in the link to see song lyrics.

* * *

He doesn't really know where else to go and he doesn't really know what else to do.

Other than continue to fulfill whatever shit expectations everyone has of him.

The same shit expectations he has of himself, now.

He came so close.

But did he really? He fucked around his entire high school career, his entire life essentially, so this whole thing is a surprise to exactly no one, isn't it?

So Noah Puckerman does what he does best, and sits against the field goal post at the McKinley football field, at 10pm on a Friday night, with a bottle of Jack in his hand. Prepared to drink himself into a stupor, because there's really nothing else he's good for anyways.

Not that he was good for anything ever to begin with.

She's sure it's a bad idea, but she just can't stay in her house anymore, in her room with all her posters and Broadway and "inspiration" and the sad looks from her fathers. Her failure surrounds her, envelopes her, taunts and chides her with every glance or thought that crosses her.

She just needs to go.

She can't go to Finn's; he's out at some thing with his mom and Burt. While he did say he'd stay home to be with her, it would just be the same thing she's been doing for the past three nights and she's all cried out. She doesn't want to go to Tina's or Mercedes', because they'll just continue to give her those apologetic looks and try to come up with some stupid, menial, back up plan for her life when her life is NEW YORK CITY and BROADWAY and what do they know anyway?

She was bound for success; they all told her that, everyone told her that.

Until she ruined it.

She makes an excuse to her dads ("just a Friday night glee get together, I'll be home later"), who are relieved to see their little girl willingly leave the house. She's not exactly changed her uniform as of late - yoga pants and t shirts, a far cry from impeccable skirts and knee socks and blouses. She did remove the New York City shirt, because it just hurts too much to wear it. There's no point in putting makeup on or even brushing her hair, because she doesn't plan on seeing anyone.

Rachel Berry lives with expectations, plans, timetables, charts, pro and con lists, but right now, she has no clue where she is going, literally and figuratively, as she puts her car in drive and tries to find a place to be.

He's only three shots into the Jack when headlights crest on the edge of the bleachers. He should try to hide the bottle or move from the field to avoid getting in trouble, or arrested, or...whatever.

Who cares.

Really.

Who.

Fucking.

Cares.

Rachel was aimlessly driving up and down the darkened streets of Lima. It was only 10pm on a Friday night, but anyone who was anyone had a place to be and was there by now. Except her. She used to be a someone, and now she is a no one, because she doesn't have a place to be. So she just put her car in drive and let it take her where it decided.

She was approaching the McKinley football field when she spied a familiar mohawk, and without even thinking, her car pulled over and stopped. She had known he was struggling to graduate; Finn mentioned something about helping him study the other night. Judging by his companion, a bottle of amber liquid that was decidedly not apple juice, she was able to deduce things had not gone as planned.

She didn't want to really be with people tonight, but if there was one person who wasn't going to give her false hopes and ridiculous alternate realities, it was Noah.

He's just as surprised to see her plop down on the grass next to him. "Hi." Her voice is quiet, subdued. While he mostly is grieving for himself, a part of him consciously notes the lacking exuberance that usually curls around Rachel's voice, and a brief...very brief...curious sympathy crosses him.

"Yeah." Not a question. Not a greeting.

"I'm guessing..." She lets her voice trail off, because she knows actually saying the words opens that salty wound back up over and over again. She's living that.

He just sighs and takes another chug of the Jack. Rachel chews on her lip, wondering if engaging Noah is really that great an idea. Misery loves company, and she thought...she just wants to help, and maybe she can help, and that will take her mind off of her state of affairs.

Wordlessly, he offers up the bottle to her, and she pauses.

She's tried yoga. She's tried meditation, she's cried it out, she's yelled it out, she's talked it out, and nothing helps, nothing takes the hurt away. She's at the end of her rope. She studies his face, waiting for the teasing that he normally dishes out.

But he doesn't meet her eyes, just nudges her hand with the bottle, waiting for her response. When she takes her first tentative sip (because she is still Rachel Berry; she does not chug), her face contorts as the liquid burns down her throat. She screws her eyes shut and sees blacks and whites and lights behind her eyelids, and gulps in air as Puck takes the bottle back from her.

They both sit in silence for awhile, Puck gripping the bottle neck until his knuckles turn white, Rachel wringing her hands. It's never been awkward, these silences between them. Noah and Rachel aren't friends. Puck and Rachel aren't friends. Or maybe they are, just not in the traditional sense of the word. She believes in him but can never finds the words to tell him that, and he believes in her and can only find his own crude words. It's a rudimentary back and forth dance for dominance, for protection.

But here, she isn't feeling like her typical Rachel Berry self. And here, he definitely isn't his Noah Puckerman self.

"You know my dad came back." It's a sentence, not a question.

"I...didn't," She momentarily feels guilty, because if anyone can understand the repeat presence of an absentee parent in their lives, it's her. She's not guilty for her preoccupation with her audition, but for the fact that she always forgets he was abandoned too.

"Fucking douchebag," He spat out the words and took another swallow from the bottle. "Fucking just...I don't see him for five fucking years and he comes back to ask me for money. Money. You don't ask a son for money."

Rachel puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Noah," She sighs. "What...what did you do?"

"I did what I thought was right," He shrugs, displacing her hand. "Gave him a shit ton of my fucking money for LA." He looks down and rubs his hand over his mohawk. "Not that it fucking matters. I'm not graduating. I'm broke. Fuck my life." He mutters and takes another gulp.

She presses her knees together and hugs them to her chest as wrings her hands. "I botched my audition." She whispers it. "I...I have no place to go. Nowhere to go. I put all my eggs in that basket and I...I choked." She doesn't bother to wipe the familiar texture of tears welling up. "It's not supposed to happen this way."

"Yeah well, join the club, princess," he growls. "My future's fucked. And it is supposed to happen this way, for me, at least. I'm just fulfilling everyone's expectations of me; I'm going to stay in Lima and become a big fuck up like my dad." He drops the bottle with a thud on the grass, shoving his thumbs into his eyes before turning his head to look at her.

It hurts her too much to look at him, but at the same time, it hurts her too much to not meet his red eyes with her own.

"I try. I fucking try, Rachel," He's pleading with...not her. Himself? "I fuck up, I'm a dick, I'm a douche, I make mistakes but I try, I try to fucking fix them."

"I know, Noah, I know." She puts her hand over one of his, and he doesn't push it away, but he does turn his head away from her to look straight into the field.

"And it was the right thing, I know it was the right thing to give him the money because he asked for help...and I know I fucked up my grades but I tried, and I studied and I just...I'm fucking stupid, I know I am, but I fucking TRIED." He chokes back and swallows hard. "And I just...can't. I can't. It's the same goddamn story over and over again, I fuck up, I try to fix it, I lose, and I try to stop fucking up but I just...fuck. I just..."

His voice trails off, and Rachel sees someone who is hurting just as much, if not more, than her. She sees a whispered shudder of his shoulders as his head is encircled by his arms, his voice mumbling, and she forgets about her pain, and her heart breaks for his.

"I just want to be someone Beth can look back and be proud of. Someone my mom can look back and be proud of. I don't wanna move fucking mountains. But I don't want to be my fucking dad. I just...I thought I knew how..."

Rachel moves her hand and starts to rub (what she thinks, hopes) are comforting circles on his back.

"And now I have nothing. No-fucking-thing. I have no money, no diploma, no future. Fuck." He shakes her off and takes a long swig of the Jack. "I'm just going to keep drinking and if I black out and wake up tomorrow, fucking great, if not, who the fuck gives a fuck."

"I give a fuck!" She's surprised at herself, but the word just slipped out.

"Ha," He bitterly spat. "Right. Besties for life bullshit? Gleeks for life? Whatever, Berry. I don't serve a purpose in your life, or anyone else's, so who the fuck cares."

"Noah..." She starts off, but isn't sure what to say, because she's broken too, just in a different way. She chooses tears for her hurt but he chooses...he's so angry. "You...you have to..." She struggles for her words, remembering how lifeless and useless words could be when used to comfort.

"Have to what, Rachel?" He growls. "Are you going to give me alternatives? 'Go to summer school', 'try again next year'? Were those alternatives good enough for you, when everyfuckingone told you what else you could do? When you fucking tanked?"

She grabbed the bottle from his hand. "No, they weren't." It burns a little less this time going down. "I don't need all these answers, I don't want answers. I just wanted one answer, one solution, one future, and I can't have that anymore and it's all my fault."

"Well, babe, I don't got any fucking solutions for you," He replies. "Nothing that you won't find at the bottom of that fucking bottle, anyways."

"So then let's drink. And maybe we'll find...something." She sighs. "There's nothing else for me and if anything, it's a temporary release from everything I feel right now."

"Yup." He sighs. "Temporary."

They share the whiskey, passing it back and forth. Puck takes longer swigs, Rachel starts out with ladylike sips, because it still does sting as it trills down. Her head is starting to feel thick and fuzzy, her vision starting to glow and sway.

"So...now what?" Rachel asks. "What are you going to do?"

"I told you," He mumbles. "I'm gonna drink till I black out."

"No, I mean, with graduation," She explained. "You can't think blacking out is an acceptable future." A hiccup slips out, and she flushes, but Puck doesn't seem to notice.

"Why the fuck not?" He lays on his back and looks at the sky. "That's all anyone expects of me, isn't it? What the fuck's the point of doing anything else?"

"But..." She bites her lip. "But you can't just give up?" She's not sure if she is asking it for him, or for her.

"I'm supposed to."

"What's with all this 'supposed to'?"

He rolls over onto his side, and his bloodshot eyes bore into her. "Face it, Berry. We all have our roles in life, and mine is the fuck up. I don't know what the fuck the universe wants me to do now other than live with my fucking ma for the rest of my life and work at Dunkin Donuts or something."

"Who says?"

He sighs exaggeratedly, and, if Rachel squinted her eyes, the red that currently outlines his eyes would fade, and she might take enjoyment in Philosophical Noah. "The fucking universe. Hierarchy and all that bullshit."

"You're smart."

"No I'm not. If I was, I wouldn't have fucking failed fucking high school."

"I didn't know you knew the word 'hierarchy'." She meant it honestly, not rudely.

"Fuck you, Berry. I know lotsa shit."

A sober Rachel would have challenged his contradicting conversation, but a tipsy Rachel did the exact opposite and stayed quiet.

"I know that you'll be fucking fine. You'll re-audition for NYADA and get your shit together and get in and be a fucking success. I know you'll fucking own New York City and wherever else you go." He scrubs his hand over his mohawk again, and Rachel realizes the more intoxicated he gets, the more honest he gets. The more honest he gets, the more fidgety he gets, taking the opportunity to divert his eyes, busy his hands, break eye contact.

A sober Rachel would have called him out on that. A sober Rachel would have scoffed at his "it'll be ok" crap.

A tipsy Rachel...listens. She leans back on her elbows and stretches her legs in front of her, propping herself up and turning to look at him. She watches his eyes dart back and forth, catching her glance for a split second before focusing over her shoulder.

"You have dreams. A future and a plan past graduation. And you'll get all that. I'm a fucking asshole bully who peaked in high school. For all the shit I did to everyone else, I guess I deserve nothing. That's what's supposed to happen."

She follows his gaze to the bleachers and, again, his fingers scratch his head, busying themselves. "I used to have people in those stands cheering for me every Friday night. I was fucking dumb as shit to think that proved I was worth something."

She's speechless. Noah just opened up and said (confessed? She thinks this is somewhat of a confession for the great Noah Puckerman) his feelings. He admitted he had feelings in the first place. She knew they were there; she just didn't know if he knew they were there. Or wanted them there.

"Noah..." She started off, and then stopped. She wanted to make sure the words she used were a valuable enough commodity. Rachel pulled herself up into a sitting position, trying to gather her thoughts, which were swimming and bobbing in her head in a sea of Jack Daniels. She shook her head, trying to bring herself out of the alcohol induced haze that was starting to inhibit her mind.

Puck stayed reclined on the ground and looked right up at her, the sincerity and pain in his face causing her to shiver. His eyes were glassy as they focused on her, his voice low among the chirp of crickets. "S'true, though. I tried to fix everything too late. Everything."

While his words hovered in the air, his eyes stayed trained on hers, until it hurts too much for her to keep them open. This is his pain, but the sting of all her past regrets, all her mistakes, flood to the surface. She doesn't realize she's crying until she feels the pad of his thumb graze across her cheek, catching the tears, swiping them gently, his fingertips ever so lightly tracing the outline of her jaw. She keeps her eyes closed, leaning in to his hand, and his thumb flutters against her lower lip.

A cell phone beeps, signaling an incoming call. Her eyes pop open and she's jolted to an upright position. Grabbing the phone, the name, "Finn" dances on the screen in front of her. She feels the need to point this out to Noah, as she holds her phone in front of his face, a little too close. "Finn." She states.

The phone keeps ringing, playing a tinny version of a Journey song. The chorus fades as the call goes to voicemail.

"Why didn't you answer?" It's a loaded question. Sober Puck and sober Rachel would know that the last thing Finn would want to hear is that his girlfriend was drinking with his former/once again/but still not totally trusted best friend.

Drunk Puck and drunk Rachel are more...honest.

"I..." Her voice stammers, as she tries to find her explanation. His hands are off of her face, her eyes are wide open, drinking in the reality of the past moment.

Maybe some more Jack will help. Rachel takes a sip; it's sliding down her throat much more smoothly.

And Noah's eyes, his eyes are searching her. His eyes, that are just as red and lost as hers have been the past few days. Full of the pain, anguish, and loneliness that he's tried to hide from everyone for so long. The same pain, anguish, and loneliness that Rachel had worn out on her sleeve for her entire high school career and even before then.

She closes her eyes again and Finn's face swirls in front of her. Finn.

Finn says she's the only thing good in his life. He wants her to go to California. But then New York. But then Ohio. But, ok, New York, that's ok. Finn loves her, wants to be with her, anywhere and anyplace she wants to be. Her dreams are his dreams, he says.

But there's only one place she wants to be and she can't be there and no other place is good enough and it's just too damn hard to deal with her own dreams, let alone the responsibility of someone else's.

"I'm sick of Finn." It feels good to blurt the truth out, with no stammering or beating around the bush. She is sick of Finn.

She just realized it now. She's really sick of Finn.

"He's a good guy."

"He's too tied up in me."

"He cares."

"He hangs his dreams on me, so not only did I ruin my own future but I ruined his. It hurts enough to have my own future taken away from me and now I have to feel guilty for his."

"He made his own choices. His choice was to follow you." Puck takes the bottle of Jack from her for his sip. "What's so bad about that. Least you have someone who cares enough to follow you."

"He needs his own dreams!" She exclaims. It feels good...GREAT...to be ANGRY instead of depressed. "He can't have mine! He doesn't understand mine! He doesn't understand me! I don't want to take care of Finn!"

Rachel is wide eyed and rambling, the alcohol giving her confidence that, yes, this revelation is coherent and sensical. Another shot of whiskey punctuates the end of her thought, and she nods her head defiantly. Puck takes the bottle away from her and takes a long, slow sip.

"S'not Finn's fault you screwed up your audition." He says, quietly. "You shouldn't be mad at him."

As quickly as the drunken anger overtook her, it drains out of her. "I...I know." Rachel's eyes focus on her toes, and she wiggles them in her flip flops. "I just...I just don't think he gets it sometimes. He hasn't had the easiest life but...but he hasn't had the same...the same..."

"Shit."

"The same...shit...I've had to deal with. And I have this dream, I've earned this dream, it's my dream. And...and he asked me to give it up. And I love him, I mean I think I do, and I would give it up but...but it's mine. He...he doesn't understand me if he thinks he could ask me that."

Puck holds his hand up. "Hold up, you think you love him?" He furrows his brow because, fuck, Finchel breakup #3 is not happening in his midst.

She flounders for her voice, trying to grasp the words she needs to use. "I just wish someone could take care of me. Could know how to take care of me. You know?"

"You have people who take care of you all the time." He's not being contradictory, he's just confused. "Christ, Rach, you have two parents, you have great friends, people love you. Finn...he takes care of you."

"People tell me what's easy to hear." She replies quietly, sniffling. "You'll make it. You're going to be big, Rachel. You have a great voice. Try again next semester, go to school for teaching music, it'll be fine." She mimics the various scenarios and placations she's heard the past few days. "That's not what I want. That's not taking care of me. Or helping me...or the situation."

"Yeah. I hear ya."

"But that's what they're supposed to say." Rachel replied sadly. "I hate the 'supposed to'."

"It sucks. But it's never gonna fucking change." he stretches back out and lays on the grass, hooking his arms behind his head. "S'the way it is, Rach. People don't wanna be bummed with you, they want to fix you and change you, and bam, shit's all better." He yawned.

They sit in silence. The entire bottle of Jack is almost empty. Rachel fingers the peeling label and begins to tip it back, until Puck's hand reaches out to stop her. She stares, wide eyed, at him. "What?"

The bottle was half full when he arrived at the field. In a matter of a few hours, he and Rachel decimated a good portion of it. Fine for him, yes, he was drunk, but not sloppy, and he's been drunk before. Not fine for a barely 100-lb girl who drank maybe four times in her life. "You're done, babe."

"I'm fine. I'm thirsty." Her eyes are enlarged, bloodshot, her cheeks pink and shiny with tears. He gently removes the bottle from her hands.

"I can't go home." She panics and shakes her head violently.

"So don't."

"You can't either."

"I won't."

"Are we going to sleep...here? On the football field?"

"Just relax, Rachel."

She lays down next to him, out on her back. The grass tickles her arms, the late night breeze chills her. "I'm cold, and my head is spinning." Rachel grips Puck's arm and turns on her side to lean her forehead against his shoulder in the hope that it will make the world stop turning. Taking deep breaths of the masculine aroma of cologne and boy and clean laundry and...Noah. Safety. Home.

Whiskey drowsiness is starting to set in for him, too, but he's still awake enough to make sure Rachel is ok. "S'ok babe," he murmurs, trailing his fingers up and down her shoulder. "It'll stop."

They lay in silence, Rachel snuggling closer to him as her eyes droop. Puck's almost sure she's asleep when he hears her sigh.

"When?" She breathes out.

"When what?"

"When will everything stop...hurting. And being so hard." Her voice is small.

"I don't know."

"Just once...just once I want my one perfect thing." She's mumbling, her eyes closed, the cadence of her voice rising and falling as she takes in slow breaths while she drifts into sleep. "Not...no, not Finn. I just want..."

Puck pulls her close into him and wraps his other arm around her. "Me too, babe. Just one perfect thing. Just...once."

"Noah?" Her breathy voice flutters into his ear, wisping against him. "I drank too much...my head...will you...can you just make sure...?"

And he brushes his hand gently through her hair, whispering a kiss against her forehead. "I'll take care of you tonight."

Early morning sunlight streams through the bleachers, creating patterns and stripes on the football field. The grass is damp, and Rachel slowly opens her eyes. She's welcomed by a pounding head and a confusion as to where she is.

And why she is all wrapped up in Noah Puckerman, covered with his hoodie. On the McKinley High football field. On Saturday morning.

She spies the almost empty bottle of whiskey a few feet away.

Something happened last night.

Rachel blinks the morning into her eyes and slowly props herself up, not exactly shaking herself from Noah's arms.

No. She's not positive of all the events that transpired last night, but, no. Not yet, she's not ready to leave the embrace.

She focuses on Noah's eyelashes, and feels his soft, warm breaths on her cheek as she wriggles up to meet his face. She remembers lots of burning whiskey...tears...anger...

Honesty.

Something happened last night.

Nothing has changed, about Rachel's NYADA audition, Puck's graduation status (or finances), or Finn's lack thereof dreams.

Finn.

Oh dear. She's laying here all tangled up in her boyfriend's best friend. And yet, Rachel feels...

Settled. Calm. The calmest she has been since the NYADA mess.

The calmest she's been since who knows when.

So she lays back down and closes her eyes, nestling back into him. The warm tranquility seeping through her veins into the tips of her toes is a welcome change from the turbulent emotions that normally inhabit her. She drifts back off into a deep slumber.

It's her sigh that wakes him up. He's a heavy sleeper, he can sleep through a fucking garbage truck zombie apocalypse for fuck's sake, but all it took was the sound of her puffed exhale to open his eyes.

Fuck if he is laying on the football field with a killer backache and...

Rachel. Berry.

Oh shit. Finn's gonna kill him. A garbage truck zombie apocalypse doesn't sound too bad and fuck no, he's not scared but seriously, he feels like a jerk cause, like, three strikes you're out and Finn might just really kill him this time.

Did anything happen?

Something happened last night.

He sees the bottle of Jack Daniels almost empty.

He examines Rachel's face, peaceful, eyes closed, slightest hint of a smile. Her breathing is even, slow, deep.

Something happened last night.

And it wasn't sexual, but maybe Puck was really kind of ok with that.

The second time they both awoke, it was thanks to a blaring ringtone that was so obnoxious, even the heaviest of sleepers couldn't ignore it. "Fuck me," swore Puck, stretching and rubbing his eyes as Rachel hopped up to retrieve the offending device a few feet away.

Of course it was Rachel's phone. Of course.

"Hi, Daddy," she replied, and Puck detected a slight nervous edge in her voice, "No...no I'm fine. Right, I'm...I'm sorry. I spent the night at Mercedes'. I was just really tired and...oh, thanks Daddy. Yes, I know, under normal circumstances this would not fly but...yes, I'm happy to finally be getting back into the groove of things too. I'll be home soon...love you too...bye."

Rachel bit the bottom of her lip and stared at the blank phone always thought Rachel's dads were pretty cool, he sees them at temple, and they never acted like he was the AntiChrist...even when he was.

Puck rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out what to say next. Rachel's phone immediately began playing a Journey song, indicating another incoming call. "Hi, Finn!" Puck actually heard an exclamation mark in her voice this time around. "No, I feel great. I know...right, you tried to call...I fell asleep so early last night..." She meets Puck's eyes and bites her lip again before looking away.

"No...I was...alone. It was...it was nothing. I just...I just didn't hear the phone ring. Sorry about that."

He checked out of the conversation by that point. Even though he was a little bit...not afraid, shut the fuck up...unnerved at what Finn might react to when he found out his girlfriend slept, and just slept, with him last night he just...

He didn't think last night was nothing. He might not remember all of it as clear as crystal but...

It's fine. It is.

He busied himself brushing grass off his jeans, ditching the Jack bottle and adjusting himself as Rachel trotted up to him. She ran her fingers nervously through her hair. "So, um...I...thanks for..." she trailed off.

"S'fine," He waved her off as he began to walk away, cursing himself for his sunglasses being in the car because, fuck, the sunlight. "Couldnta killed that bottle of Jack myself."

"I mean...Noah..." Rachel took a deep breath. "You knew exactly what I needed last night. So, thank you. Really, really, thank you."

He shrugged her off. "Just doin' what I was supposed to."

He caught her glance when he received his diploma on graduation day. Of course she smiled back at him, but not a full out grin, more of a small, knowing smile, a smile he's never seen on her before. And when she revealed, at Mercedes' post graduation party, that she made it into NYADA, his was the first face she locked on after sharing the news.

He was sneaking out of the party early, on the side of the backyard, when Rachel caught his arm, "Noah!" Her patented Rachel Berry grin was back. "Where are you going, the party's barely started."

He shrugged. "Not my thing, Berry," He nonchalantly replied. " 'Sides, I got work tomorrow morning."

She looked at her feet, toeing her sandal into the dirt on the driveway. "I just...I wanted to thank you for that night. On the football field. I feel like we never really..."

"No big, Rachel." He cut her off. "S'all good, I told you. I didn't tell Finn or anything."

"No." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I don't mean that. I mean...Noah...it was just...I just never felt so safe...so...heard. When I was there sleeping with you, it was like...like I was home and nothing bad would happen." She shook her head. "I know, you don't do the mushy stuff like this, sorry, I just...I just had to thank you. I really needed that night."

Puck rolled his eyes. "You're crazy, Berry."

"I'm so proud of you, Noah. So, so proud." She grinned. "You'll keep in touch, right?"

He shrugged again. "Probably not." He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "Knock 'em dead in New York."

Surprising herself, her eyes filled with tears. He looked over his shoulder before he climbed into his truck. "I'll see ya again, Rach. Go get your one perfect thing."

He'll see her again. He already found his one perfect thing that night on the football field. And once she finds hers, he'll be there waiting.


End file.
